


Violet

by oceantears



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Break Up, Bruises, Cheating, F/M, Face Slapping, Non-Graphic Smut, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Second Person, Violet Chachki - Freeform, eventually out of character, not graphic, pearl liaison - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 09:56:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12187776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceantears/pseuds/oceantears
Summary: Violet means a lot to you.Violet is the colour her lipstick leaves on you when she kisses you. Violet is the colour your breaking heart has.





	Violet

**Author's Note:**

> Written by me.  
> This is my first fanfiction in this fandom, and somehow it did not turn out to be a happy fic. Sorry. :)  
> It's Pearls POV in Second-Person-POV, and it kind of explains what the colour violet means to Pearl. (This might be very OOC, especially Violet, so I apologize!) Please bear in mind that english is not my first language and tell me where I made mistakes. Comments are greatly appreciated. :P  
> enjoy!

Violet is the colour of creativity, mystery and future. It is the colour of immaturity, vanity and fraudulence.  
But to you, it's so much more than that.

 

When she presses you against the wall, it's the colour her lipstick leaves on your mouth, throat, collarbones. It's the colour you wake up to the next morning, splattered all over your shoulders, thighs and arms in the form of bruises, as big as fingertips. It's the colour of the eyeshadow she's wearing on your first date, the colour of her nailpolish on the third, the colour of your shirt on the fifth and the colour of her bra on the eighth.  
When you move into an appartment with her after months of dating and colourful bruises on her and you, it's the colour the curtains have, the colour of the sheets in your bedroom.  
When she traces words on your skin, words you couldn't even begin to understand, the colour settles in your heart, beating steadily, beating fast. When you whispers the three words which mean the world to you for the first time, the colour is present in her answer: a long, sweet kiss and silence.

 

It's all this, but it's also the colour your breath turns when you listen and listen but you never hear the three words from her that would mean _everything_ to you. It's the colour the bedroom has at night, when you are laying in an empty bed, worrying over the person that should lay next to you. It's the colour of relief the next morning when you see her in your kitchen, sipping coffee, and it's the colour under her eyes that shows just how little she has slept.  
It's the colour of the words her lying tongue tells you, when you ask her where she has been, and it's the colour of the emotions that burn in you, when she leaves the kitchen without answering honestly.

After a while, the colour that once lingered in every loving touch, every little smile, fades and is replaced with a darker shade of it. When you scream at her for the first time because she has lipstickstains on her blouse and the smell of a foreign perfume covers her, it's the colour your words have as they leave your mouth. The colour is there when she locks herself in the bathroom, crying, cursing you. The colour seeps into your veins when she emerges hours later, make-up smeared, eyes red, and she climbs into the bed, whispering promises to never leave you again. It's the colour that burns behind your eyes as you fall asleep that night, and it's the colour of the bedsheets next to you, when you wake up. Bedsheets, which are empty.

Violet is the colour that flashes in your vision when she comes home, drunk and giggling, hands locked with a man who is just as drunk as she is, and eager to get her clothes off. Violet is the colour that the man's skin turns when you hit him and throw him out, locking the door behind you. Violet is the colour that her lips have - once again - as she stumbles over her words, trying to explain, that this means nothing, nothing, nothing, that it was a mistake and won't happen again, not once. Violet is the colour that dominates your dreams that night, as you sleep on the couch while she tosses around in your bed.

Violet is the colour that ends it all.  
Violet is the person that ends it all.

It is the colour your words have when you explain to her that she has to leave, that it can't continue like this. It is the colour your skin turns when she hits you, crying, begging for another chance. It is the colour that blossoms on your skin that night, in an empty bed, an empty appartment with an empty chest. Violet is the colour the bedsheets have (you throw them away), violet is the colour the bra has, which you later find under your bed (you throw it away), violet is the colour the leftover lipstick in the bathroom has (you throw it away). However, violet is not the colour the hollow place has, where your heart should be.

Your heart, though, your heart is violet.

And Violet is the person who has it.


End file.
